Forgotten
by SpicyRamenGirl
Summary: Lissa's healing after the car crash didn't go exactly as planned. Rose came back; she just left behind her memories. Years later and she has a new name, a family, and is happy. But the Academy wants her back and they're about to see a new Rose


Gone

_The squeal of tires. Desperate screams. A crash. Pain. Burning. Pleading. Lissa. Cold. Dark. Bright. Warm. Happy. So tired. Gone…_

"Do you know what year it is?" Dr. Cole asked, looking up from the clipboard on her lap long enough to sweep her gaze over me.

I narrowed my eyes marginally but bit out, "_No_. I told you already; I don't remember anything."

She nodded and jotted something down on that annoying clipboard. "Can you tell me whose president?"

"No."

"And you don't remember your name?"

It wasn't her fault she was so incompetent, I told myself. She had to ask these completely moronic questions. "No, I can't remember a thing," I said, trying to keep my voice even.

Dr. Cole set aside the clipboard, pulled off her glasses—dramatically, as if that made the action so much more important—and looked me in the eye with a smile so fake it was plastic. I didn't smile back. "Well, it would appear that you have traumatic amnesia from the head wound you sustained. You can remember most basic things but can't seem to remember anything about yourself, nor the reason for your head trauma."

Thank you _so_ much. I hadn't figured that out on my own and if you hadn't pointed that out, I may not have known I had no freakin' memories! My anger must have shown in my expression because Dr. Cole straightened in her chair and hastily started to gather all her papers and brain scans.

"W-well, you show no signs of permanent brain-damage, though you will have headaches for a while," she stuttered, rising to her feet and dashing to the door. The smile she sent over her shoulder at me was shaky and I had to bite my lip to keep the smirk off my face. "You should be well enough to leave in a few days." And with that last statement, said with such relief it was insulting, she threw open the door and slipped through, letting the door clang shut behind her in her hast.

Silence descended over the room immediately, broken only by the beeping off the monitors that were still hooked up to me. It was an empty silence. Lonely. My hands tightened into fists around the sheet on my lap and the urge to smile faded away like smoke. Despite hating how the Dr. Cole treated me like I was an idiot, I didn't really want her to leave—just to shut up. After all, she was the only one, aside from the nurses, that even came into my room.

I stared at the vacated chair and tried to imagine who might have sat there. Would it be a mom, trying to sound cheerful through her sadness at me being hurt? Or maybe a frazzled dad, running his hand through his hair with frustration. Maybe even a boyfriend or best friend telling me about everything I'd missed in school that day. For a moment, a fuzzy image of a girl with long blond hair flashed in my mind. I drew in a breath in shock and tried to reach for the vision but it was gone, dragged back into the depths of my mind, like my other memories.

"Damn it."

The beeping picked up and the sound of my ragged breathing filled the room. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. It was just so…frustrating! I'd been at St. James Memorial Hospital for the past month, getting every brain scan and test done that they had on site, waiting for my life to come back to me. The doctors had promised it would come with time, not to push it or I could make it worse, but all I could think about was how could it be worse? I had no recollection what so ever of my life. Sure, I could remember stupid stuff, like common places and things, but nothing personal. I couldn't remember where I went to school (or if I ever had), my parents (if I had any), and not even my name. It was as if I'd lost myself after whatever incident had brought e to the hospital in the first place.

I had been found, limp and bloody, on the side of the road, apparently. Some Good Samaritan had called an ambulance and I'd been brought here. Not that I was witness to any of this while it happened; I'd been in a coma that had lasted a week.

Upon waking I'd been frantic, terrified, and above all else, wild. The nurse who was checking on me at the time sent in her notice of retirement later that day, effective immediately, and left two days later wearing a cast on her arm and a purse full of painkillers for the broken ribs. I spent the next few days strapped to the bed. It gave me the time to think through everything, even if some of the things I wanted to think about I couldn't remember. After being declared not a danger to myself or others anymore, I'd been released and that was when the questions had started.

The first person to try and speak to me was a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, a slightly beaked nose, and small black glasses that made his eyes look small and beady. He reminded me of a bird. The way he walked, the way he sat, how he would cock his head to the side every now and then as if seeing me from a different angle would make everything much clearer. Whenever he spoke it was slowly and with this superior tone to it like I was an idiot that couldn't understand English. I didn't like him and my cold glares and rebellious silence made that fact clear. One day he just stopped showing up. Can't say I was exactly broken up about it.

The second person was a young woman, maybe late twenties to early thirties, with blond hair that she always wore down. I would know when she was coming because I could hear her heels clicking from down the hall. She'd tried to be friendly our first few encounters, acting as if she was a teenager, telling me stories about herself and what her life was like. She talked a lot about her family and accidents that she'd gotten into as a kid. It took me a while to figure out that she was trying to coax me into telling her something like "Yeah, I know how that is. I accidently crashed my parents' car into a tree" or something like that. I could tolerate that, though, because I honestly had no idea how I even got hurt. What I couldn't tolerate was when she'd suggested that the reason I'd been hurt was because I was sleeping around and pissed off some guy.

Goodbye, blond lady.

Finally, after the cops had shown up and started spinning stories of drug smuggling, I told them about my amnesia. That was two weeks ago. I still had no clue who I was and now I was about to be kicked out of the only place that I actually knew.

A tear splattered against the sheet and I fell apart.

…

"Jane, get over here!" the social worker, Ms. Parker, shouted at me.

That was my name now, or at least my title; Jane Doe. I hated it. It made me sound like one of those murder victims on the TV shows that some of the newer kids talked about at night, when the lights went out and we had nothing but each other to fend off the despair. But what else could they call me. I didn't remember my name and there had been no reports of missing teenage girls with dark hair, eyes, and skin. I had no identity of my own and apparently no family either. Ms. Parker wasted no opportunity to remind me of this.

"JANE!"

"Coming!" I yelled back and stomped through the crowd of people, shoving when someone didn't get the message to _move_. By the time I was at Ms. Parker's side I'd gotten a dozen or so glares. Oh well. Not like I was ever going to see any of them again. I looked up at Ms. Parker—she was a foot taller than me, something I loathed—and asked, "Where are we going?"

She sniffed and looked down at me out of the corner of her eye contemptuously. She really shouldn't have gone into this business, seeing as how she seemed to hate kids in general, orphans specifically. "You have an interview. Apparently, someone does want you. If they're stupid enough you'll hopefully be taken off my hands."

Right. Thanks so much. Ignoring the insult, I said, "An interview? With who? Just who are these people?"

Instead of answering any of my questions she stopped in front of a plain brick apartment building wedged between more buildings just like it. Ms. Parker climbed the steps quickly, forcing me to keep up or be left behind, and pressed a button for number thirty-seven. Static grated against my ear drums as the intercom crackled to life before a soft voice carried through it.

"_Yes?"_

"Mrs. St. Claire? This is Ms. Parker, from CPS. I have with me Jane Doe."

"_Oh, right, that interview was today. Come on up."_

"Thank you," Ms. Parker replied before grabbing for the door. She gave a hand yank only for the door not to budge an inch. I turned my laugh into a cough when she gave me a sharp look. Taking in a deep breath through her nose that made her nostrils flare like a bull's, Ms. Parker stabbed at thirty-seven again.

"_Yes?"_

"Mrs. St. Claire," She growled, "you forgot to open the door to us."

"_I did? Sorry."_ Suddenly a loud buzzing filled the air around us and a click emitted from the door. I yanked on the handle and it swung open easily. _"How's that?"_

"Thank you."

"_See you soon."_

"Think you can handle going up the stairs?" I snarked at her, eyebrows raised and a smirk pulling at my lips.

She glared but gave no response other than to breeze past me. The smirk grew. As I climbed up the three floors after Ms. Parker, though, my smirk started to whither until I was frowning in worry. I'd already been to three interviews so far, a pretty big number considering that it was usually younger kids that people really wanted, and each one sucked worse than the last. That guy had spent more time trying to look down my shirt than listening to Ms. Parker. He had PEDOPHILE written on him in such bold print that even Ms. Parker, the woman who hated my guts, wouldn't leave me with him when he said he would adopt me. I'd wanted to hug that woman.

But that didn't mean we had to like each other.

Ms. Parker abruptly stopped in front of me and I dug my heels into the carpet just before I smacked into her back. She raised her hand to knock on the door with a small brass thirty-seven on it and I let my eyes roam over the hall. It was plain; nothing fancy but not really uncared for. There was only one door that led into the hallway, the one we'd just come through, and no windows either. If each apartment door was locked, a person could easily be trapped here.

The soft click of a door unlocking and the squeal of hinges brought my attention back to thirty-seven. The door swung open slowly, revealing a woman with a quizzical expression. She stared at Ms. Parker, blinking quizzically as if she doesn't know why some middle-aged lady that looks like she could be a witch (Ben, a fellow orphan, explained them to me when I didn't get a previous joke) would be standing outside her door at nine a.m. on a Saturday. And then her eyes switch to me and a smile lights up her face.

"Oh, you must be Jane!" she exclaims, that same voice from the intercom filing up the empty space of the halls and echoing off the walls. "You look just like your picture; so pretty for a girl so young."

I want to ask her where she got a picture of me but the only words that come out are, "Uh…thank you?" and they manage to be less thanks, more question.

It looks like she didn't notice, though, as her attention has shifted over to Parker immediately. "And you must be Ms. Parker! So glad to see you again. I just want to thank you for setting up this interview on the weekend; I imagine you wanted to spend time out with friends but I have to work during the weekdays and this was the best time for me."

I turned my laugh into a cough at the thought that Ms. Parker actually had any friends, let alone went out for fun on the weekends. It was hard not to burst out in giggles when Ms. Parker actually looked nervous at the word "friends".

"Er…yes," she stuttered, her eyes looking everywhere but at the woman's. "But this is more convenient for you and we work hard to please our customers."

The woman smiles and opens the door wider for us, gesturing that we should come inside. Ms. Parker strides in like she lives there while I slink behind, cautious and wary. The woman watches my entrance with an amused grin and shuts the door behind me before holding out her hand for me to shake. Hesitantly, I grip the hand and she squeezes my fingers.

"Hello, Jane, I'm Lily St. Claire." The words seem to hold more weight than a simple introduction should. They're important for some reason.

"Hello, Mrs. St. Claire," replied. I might have pretended to ignore Ms. Parker's lessons on manners but I really didn't want to end up with some creepy guy like interview #2.

"Please, call me Lily," she insists before dropping my hand and moving down the hallway. I follow her and we come out at the living room big enough for a bright red couch, an armchair, a coffee table, a flat screen TV mounted to the wall, and just enough legroom for people to move around or sit on the floor. Ms. Parker had already claimed the armchair and had her papers all set up and—ugh—another clipboard. Lily winks at me over her shoulder and says, "Soon enough, you might even be calling me Mom." And with that declaration she turns back to Ms. Parker with confirmation that she's ready to begin.

All I can do is take a place on the couch and stare at Lily St. Claire.

…

"I want to change my name."

It's been three weeks since the adoption's been finalised and I've grown comfortable in the St. Claire household. Lily is kind and patient with me, explaining everything I don't know and not pushing me when I can't answer certain questions. She knows about my amnesia and how I was fatally injured but she doesn't try and get me to talk about things I can't remember or hug or other stupid grief stuff. She just lets me be unless I do something really bad like punching someone out for commenting about me and even then the punishment is more for show so that Danny doesn't try it.

Danny is Lily's eight-year-old son. The first time we met was a few days after the interview, my first day with Lily. He'd stumbled out of his bedroom, wearing only Batman boxers and a ratty T-shirt, his hair sticking up wildly. It was kinda funny, the way he froze up, staring at me with wide eyes, before suddenly bolting for the kitchen with a frightened "Moooooommmm!" I thought I'd bust a lung from laughing so hard. He'd sent me an angry pout when he came back in—this time wearing clothes—and saw me rocking back and forth on the couch from the force of my mirth. It took twenty minutes and multiple explanations from his mom to get him to accept that I wasn't some crazy person who broke into his house to watch TV. But it was only after I punched out this kid from the next building over who was bullying him that he started to like me. Amazing what changes people's opinions, huh?

But back to the present.

Lily looked up from putting the dishes in the washer and raised an eyebrow at me in confusion. Damn, that was cool. "Why do you want to change your name?"

I shrugged and looked away from her searching gaze. "Just do."

The silence felt thicker than the air I sucked into my lungs, probably because it was weighted down by the eyes that never wavered from me. "Alright!" I exclaimed, unable to take any more staring. "The girls at school like to say that I'm really a nobody since my name's Jane Doe. I may not have any memory of my life before all this but that doesn't mean I was a nobody."

"…What would you change your name to, then?"

"Don't know. Something cool, that's for sure. But I know what my last name would be. Would it be okay if I used your last name?" I asked and finally looked her in the eyes. Tears were pooling in the blue depths and I suddenly found myself engulfed in a bone-crushing hug.

"Yes! Of course that would be alright, sweetheart. I'd love for you to be a St. Claire."

"W-wow," I stuttered, awkwardly settling my arms around her to rest on her back. "I expected at least a little hesitance."

"Sweetheart, I adopted you. I chose you because I wanted you to be part of my family. Why would I not want you to have our last name?"

I hastily blinked back the tears in my own eyes. "Thanks, Lily."

She pulled away from the hug but gripped my shoulders and smiled at me widely. "Now then, what do you want your first name to be?"

"Actually, I was thinking you could choose it," I said. "You know, like other moms do."

She looked ready to burst into tears again but still choked out, "Kenzie. Kenzie St. Claire."

…

"Hey, hey, Kenzie, can we go to the ice cream shop?"

I sighed and tightened my grip on the legs wrapped around my waist. "No, Danny. Mom wants us home _on time_ today and I do not want to deal with you on a sugar high."

"Come ooonnnn," he whined and tugged at my hair. "Pleeeease? I'll be your best friend."

"Already have one."

"Kenzieeee!"

"No way."

"Meanest big sister ever."

I grinned at hearing his tone and knew that he had his face buried against my hair, effectively hiding his pout. "Aww, c'mon, no need to pout."

"I'm not pouting!" he grumbled in my hair.

"Sure you aren't, sure you aren't," I said easily. "We'll stop off at the ice cream store after my karate lessons, though."

And just like that he was back to happy. "Really?"

"Uhuh. We can spare a few minutes then."

Thing little boy arms looped themselves around my neck. "Thank you Kenzie."

Smiling softly, I squeezed his legs tighter and gave a little hop to settle him on my back more firmly. "It's what big sisters do, Danny."

Soon enough we were at the apartment and I was sliding my key into the lock. "We're home!" I called as I let Danny slide down to his feet and watched as he dashed to the kitchen for a snack. I shook my head but was grinning affectionately; the kid was like a black hole. I pulled my messenger bag over my shoulder and let it drop to the floor as I stepped into the living room. "Hey, Mom, is it okay if I take Danny with me to kara—who are they?"

Mom stood immediately and came to give me my customary welcome home hug. I spared her only a glance, just enough to see the redness of her eyes, before my gaze leveled on the people sitting on the couch. My eyes narrowed suspiciously; whoever they were, they'd made Mom cry, and for that they didn't deserve to be trusted.

"Kenzie, these people are from St. Vladimir's Academy, a school in Montana," Mom explained, tears forming in her eyes all over again. "They say they know you."

My eyes widened and I looked at the people sitting uncomfortably in my living room in a new light. There were five of them, two men and three women, though only one of them was smiling. The oldest woman stood up from her place in the middle and stopped in front of me, her eyes looking me over with disapproval. She seemed to be fighting a scowl. My irritation at her reaction overpowered my awe that she used to know me and I found myself disliking her immediately.

"Kenzie, this is Headmistress Kirova," Mom said from beside me.

Kirova cocked an eyebrow. "Kenzie?"

"My name," I replied. Somehow it came out sounding like a challenge.

One she evidently took up.

Kirova chuckled softly and smiled; it wasn't a nice smile. "Not only do you shirk your responsibilities but you also deny your own parentage. You are the same as always, 'Kenzie'."

I wanted to dent her face with my fist and ask her a million questions at the same time but I didn't get to do either because at that moment Mom spoke up. "Ms. Kirova, you may have known Kenzie before the accident but that gives you know right to come into my home and insult my daughter."

"Accident?" It was a woman with red hair who said it. She was half-standing and looked more awkward than any of them.

"Yeah. Three years ago I was found on the side of the road. By the time that somebody stopped to check on me I'd already slipped into a coma. I woke up a week later with amnesia. Doctors said it was due to head trauma; my head had been cracked open and I'd had multiple broken bones and internal bleeding. Dr. Cole said it looked like I'd been in a bad car accident and that it was a miracle I'd even survived." My voice got breathier the more I talked and tears blurred my vision. A hand squeezed mine and I immediately knew it was Mom trying to comfort me.

The smiling woman bolted to her feet and turned on Kirova with a ferocity I'd never seen in a stranger. "How did we not know about this? Kirova, how could you not know of this? It happened _three years ago_!"

Kirova looked shocked and about ready to snap back at her when a blur of eleven-year-old boy came crashing into me. Arms wrapped around my middle and Danny buried his face against my stomach. Shocked, I didn't notice that Danny was crying until I felt the water seeping through my shirt. "Hey, Danny, what's wrong?"

"You never told me about that," he cried into my shirt. "You-you just told me you got"—he shuddered in a breath—"hurt!"

My heart melted. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Danny. I didn't want to scare you."

"Dumbie! I'm scared because you could have _died_ and I never would have even _met_ you and you _never_ would've been _my big sister_!"

I drew him in closer and leaned down. "Oh, Danny." It was the perfect sibling moment, where neither of us are fighting, acting superior, or being a brat. The kind of moment where nothing is hidden and there were no guarded hearts or hidden meanings. Just spelled out, plain and simple and sweet.

The moment didn't last long, though, as the younger of the men stood up. He drew the attention of everyone in the room with his height alone and captured it with his looks. Way over six feet tall, he seemed massive compared to my five feet four frame and for a second I thought his head might hit the ceiling fan spinning just above his head. His duster flared around him with every move and he swiped at shoulder length strands of brown hair that seemed to be coming free of a hair tie. When his chocolate brown eyes settled on me my heart jumped in my chest and I felt heat rise to my face. Oh, my God. He was gorgeous.

Then he had to go and open his mouth and say, "I'm sorry to have to say this, but you must come back to St. Vladimir's with us, Ro-Kenzie."

I think Danny might have growled at him and Mom grabbed onto my arm as if she could keep me there just with her strength alone against these five people. I know I said a very impolite word about his parentage that I told Danny to never say.

"No way!" Mom shouted. "She's my daughter and she stays with me."

The man stepped closer and I found myself being pushed away from him. He froze but his serious expression never changed. "I'm afraid that we can't allow that, Mrs. St. Claire. We can't afford to let her remain here. Especially seeing as how she's female and considering the late Dragomir's wishes."

_Dragomir_…the name sounded familiar and the fuzzy image of a blond girl appeared in my mind. I shook it off. Now was not the time.

"I'm not going with you," I hissed at him. Hot or not I wouldn't leave my family just because he said so.

He sighed. "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this but you either come with us willingly or we'll need to take you by force."

I could just imagine. They would probably take out Danny first, seeing as how he was the weakest, or they might use him as leverage to keep us from putting up a fight. And there would be fight, I could see that already. Mom and Danny wouldn't just give me up without one. There was really only one way out of this that would keep us all safe.

"Alright. I'll go with you."

The guy nodded and as he turned to converse with Kirova I caught the relief in his expression. Did he really think that I would be stupid enough to put my family at risk? Just how bad had I been?

"You mean, we'll go with you."

My eyes widened and I turned slowly to stare at my mom. "Mom?"

She smiled at me, her blue eyes twinkling. "You didn't think that I'd just let you go after three years, did you? We're a family and we'll stick together." Her face hardened as she directed her next words to the guy and Kirova, both of whom were gawking at my mom as if they couldn't believe she'd said that. "Danny and I will be going with Kenzie. You will set up a place for us to stay on the campus and everything to do with Kenzie must be approved by me. if you have any problems with any of these demands she isn't setting foot out of this house and I'll have you arrested for attempted kidnapping and intimidation."

"Go Mom!" cheered Danny and I silently echoed his statement under my breath.

Although she looked ready to explode, Kirova grudgingly accepted Mom's conditions and within the hour I found myself standing outside the only home I ever remembered with the only family I had, listening to Mom promise that we'd be back soon.

Something in my gut told me it was a lie.


End file.
